Promise
by Seen and Unseen
Summary: People die. Blood is shed. Respect is gained and lost. But the one thing Madame Red knows is that this one promise is never broken. (GrellxMadame Red. Based on Episode Five.)


**Hello all! **

**… Enjoy this? A somewhat dark version of Madame's death – and yet, somehow, it's happier than it is in the original. Hopefully in character. Made of three very short, almost drabble-length, parts.  
Warnings: Dark. (But then, what in Black Butler isn't?) GrellxMadame Red.**

**Disclaimer****: Kuroshitsuji is not mine in any way, shape, or form. (I would say that in a wittier way… however, I think every joke there has already been said.) All belongs to its respective owners.**

A Promise Forged

She never did anything without a motive. No matter what happened.  
Angelina Durless – though few knew her by that name anymore – was _always_ planning her next moves, thinking two steps ahead.  
So really, she mused, the look of startlement on her lover's face should not have been there.  
"Honestly, Grell," she tutted. "Do you see any _other_ outcome of our little games?" A lazy twirl of her fingers twisted a few loose strands of red hair. "It doesn't matter if we kill every streetwalker in London, sooner or later the game will be up and we will be caught."  
The butler's silence was surprising – she allowed him to finish dressing her in a nightgown before turning to face him, her back to her chamber window. "And when that happens – well. Surely someone as ruthless as you are should know that it's only survival of the fittest."  
Grell looked at her in a rare moment of solemnity. His green eyes glinted with the surprise his face no longer showed, but he smiled a sharp-toothed smile.  
"Are you _sure_ about this, Madame?"  
"Entirely." Her voice did not even quiver.  
He kissed her hand with a flourish. "Then should I color you as beautifully red as the finest of our victims – no, as red as _you_, the very finest of them all – should deserve?"  
Angelina Durless – often known as Madame Red – laughed. It was a cruel, cold amusement, but amusement all the same. "I don't care. The only thing that matters is that if I am ever, ever found out, you must kill me."

A Promise Strengthened

"Shall you do the honors, my lady?"  
Angelina's eyes swept over the garret. Even now, before their work began, it was _red_ – a scarlet candle, her red taffeta ballgown (Grell was quite prone to theatrics, and she was not averse to playing along with his whims. Especially when he argued that _he _for one was still in disguise and she would have to be beautiful enough for both of them.) Even her own strands of flame-colored hair shone tonight.  
Their prey's eyes widened at the smile that was spreading across her face, and the younger girl struggled against her ties. Scarlet lipstick bled against her gag, making Grell scowl.  
"_Really_," he scolded. "We went to all this trouble to make you beautiful, you know?" He pouted, but handed his mistress a knife. "Well, soon I suppose it won't matter, but a woman should always look her best."  
"Enough for now, Grell," she said calmly, knowing the sight of her detachment would frighten the girl further.  
She had to admit that she was not at all displeased with that outcome. Not here, in this world of crimson.  
As she lifted the knife, her quarry managed to throw off the gag. They froze, but she did not even attempt to scream or struggle. Instead, she tilted her head to meet her soon-to-be-killer's eyes, and refused to look away.  
"Why?" Her voice was raspy, but understandable.  
Angelina didn't even hesitate. "Because," she said. "You had everything – _everything_ – and you _threw it all away_."  
Then the knife fell.

Afterwards, Grell smiled his fanged smile as he brushed droplets of blood from her face. She supposed most humans would find that disconcerting in some way – but what did she have to fear? After all, she thought with satisfaction, she was just as much a monster.  
"Madame," he said. "How beautiful you are now, red with anger and blood." He twined a hand in her hair, making her smile. "Are you still sure? It would be such a shame to crush something so _exquisitely _passionate."  
Her smile turned slightly melancholy. "I have always been certain," she whispered.  
"My orders are the same."

A Promise Kept  
  
The day she knew would come.  
The day she had anticipated and planned for from the first death, the first night she met her scarlet reaper.  
But she never knew how impossible it would be to kill the last of her kin.  
Ciel – her nephew, her child – his eye was wide and blue as he stared at her. Unafraid. Calculating, yet deceptively innocent. Absolutely fearless.  
Everything Rachel had been.  
And it didn't matter that, until that moment, she had hated him for ruining her, for being on the side opposite hers. It didn't matter that she had been going to end him – herself, by her own hands, while Grell fought and flirted with his own adversary.  
She would not be taking him with her when she left the world. The red of his blood would bring her nothing but pain – the underside of passion.  
The knife clattered to the paving stones.  
"I can't kill him," she whispered. "I can't kill their beloved son."  
And still lower, so no human ears could hear her – "Please."  
The world blurred after that. Sudden shadows moved to attack her – but she was hardly afraid. She had chosen the manner of her death, and it would be in a fiery scarlet, not the depths of black.  
She trusted Grell enough for that.  
He was there, then, by her side, green eyes incredulous. "Don't tell me you're going softhearted on me now? After all those deaths? If you don't end him, he'll end you."  
So she had lost his respect. She did not regret it – because no matter what he thought of her, he still loved her.  
And he would still honor their promise.  
She looked to his eyes with tears on her cheeks and a bittersweet, accepting smile. "I can't kill him," she repeated. "This child is my –"  
Her words were cut off.  
As she fell, her last dim thought was that she was right. Her bloodred reaper had given her her last wish.  
And the last thing she felt was cold steel in her chest – softened by her warm, beautiful, _crimson_ blood.


End file.
